Chapter 6

About six hours earlier than Ben's culinary adventures, Patrick followed one of the workers from the shadows, doing his best to stop his armor from clinking. The worker entered into a small field tent and began chatting loudly with somebody inside.

The young deputy snuck to the other side of the tent and used his sword to cut open the canvas. He had one leg through when somebody pocked him on the shoulder.

“There you are, Deputy.” a woman carrying a box of gunpowder under her arm was smiling down at him. “As I said, this is the camp medical tent. It’s where we put our injured workers and the doc takes a look at them.”

“Eh, right, thanks again. I really appreciate the help.” Said, Patrick.

“Aww, it’s really no problem, but you know, we don’t hate you guys that much, you can just use the regular entrance. Even though you’re a Peacekeeper and all that.” the worker said, shuffling her feet.

“No, that’s very kind. I will go and do just that.”

“Right-o. Be careful. We've been getting strange orders lately and there are some rough-looking people hanging around. After this, you tell May we are even. I'm risking my skin here."

Patrick frowned, "Wait, what does that mean?"

The woman continued as if she had not heard him, "Well, I have work to do, I mean, I actually work for a living, not like some people. My grandpa didn’t get me any job, not even an itty bitty one.” She said and began walking away. If anything, her cheery attitude made the words sting all the more, as if she cared so little, she could not even work herself up to anger.

“Hey!” Patrick responded, indignant, “I do work.” But she was already gone.

The deputy dusted himself off, feeling only a little bit embarrassed, something in which he had a great deal of practice.

The first thing to notice when entering the medical tent was how dark and uninviting it was. What few patients there were, they were sat around on bunks with just the barest of essentials. One of them, a man with a head injury was leaking blood on the floor because his bandages were overflowing.

Patrick hurried up to the bunk, picked up some clean bandages from a cupboard, and helped dress the wound. The whole time, he looked around, waiting for the doctor to pop up, maybe covered in gore from a life-saving surgery he had to perform on the field somewhere. But that was not to be.

In the back of the tent, there was one person, cordoned off from all the rest, seemly shoved into a corner and forgotten about.

Patrick set aside the partition and took a seat next to the man. He looked at the sheet hanging above the man's head. The name was crossed over as to be unintelligible. The reason for admission just said, "Injured"

The man was presently unconscious, his midsection almost completely covered in bandages. A sweet, sickening smell radiated from the wounds. The sick man began to groan and twist, the bandage falling askew. Underneath it lay a horrible wound, made as if by a large clawed animal. The edges of the wound were grey, leaking blood as well as a liquid so black it resembled ink.

No kind of explosion Patrick had ever seen could cause such an injury. A wave of cold washed over the deputy. He could almost hear May's voice next to him, asking her questions.

"Why lie that he was hurt by an explosion? Why hide his name? Why keep him here, when the worst injury cases must be passed to the town clinic?"

The lab doctor breezed through the tent's entrance, rubbing at his eyes, and looking more dead than not. Patrick quickly pulled the bandage up and took a few steps back.

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"Hey, doc," he said. "I was just about to talk with your injured man here. Peacekeeper May told me there was some gunpowder accident."

The doc frowned when he saw the deputy, his eyes running from the injured man to Patrick and back.

"Yeah, kid... Yeah. Well, why don't you leave that man be. He's got enough trouble for one day." The doctor sucked at his teeth and waved Patrick out. "Let's go talk in my office."

The doctor's office was a small, stuffy room, with rotten wood panels, a scratched-up desk stained with ink and paper records shoved wherever there was room. The only clear space was the chair and the windowsill that housed a small battery-run fan.

As the doctor entered, he touched the back of the fan, making a small pop, followed by a small blue light and the whirring of the fan spinning up.

"That must be useful," said Patrick.

"What, that? Nah, just a parlor trick really. Saves me a few coins a month, having an Electric show up and recharge the batteries on all my stuff. Not that I use much of the technology." said the Doctor. "I showed talent as a kid, but not enough of it to get a trade job, never mind become an Academy Mage."

Patrick gave a polite smile. "I can do some natural magic. My skin, I can sort of turn it into stone for few seconds."

"Ah, I see. So you decided to become a Peacekeeper then." said the doctor, finally sitting down and waving at Patrick to do the same.

Patrick sat down on a stack of papers that he deemed could hold his weight, seeming the only place for guests to sit. He noticed on a lower shelf a pistol near a bag of powder and wondered what a doctor would need to shoot.

"Well," the young deputy rubbed the back of his head, becoming uncomfortable with where the subject was leading. "It was what my grandfather wanted for me. Anyway, it didn't turn out that bad for you, sir, I mean, you're a doctor and all that. That's gotta be better than recharging people's lights and electric ovens."

"Yeah, if you say so, kid. I gotta say, I was real sorry to hear about your grandfather. He didn't deserve what happened to him." said the Doctor.

"No, sir, he didn't," Patrick responded.

"Now," the doctor coughed to break the awkward silence, "What can I help you with son?"

"Peacekeeper May, she wanted a report on the injured man. Just to have on file, she said," said Patrick.

"Ah, is that why?" replied the doctor.

"Sir?"

"Happy with your job kid?"

"I started not that long ago. I like to think I'm still learning," said Patrick.

"You're learning, but you're afraid. I can damn near hear you shaking in your boots there. Do you even know how to use that saber you've got hanging by your side?" The doctor pointed at the deputy's sword with a sneer.

"I'm just... I'm just learning. Just doing my job." said Patrick.

"Do you even know what you're asking? This is a very nasty business we're all in. Guns flow down, money flows back. If not in so many words, Darby doesn't want any of you poking around. It doesn't take a genius to notice."

"I didn't notice," said Patrick.

"Sorry, kid. This is why May sent you. She probably figured nobody was paying attention to you. I know you saw something in the tent. The best thing you can do for yourself, and for May, is to just let this one go." said the doctor.

"But, I don't understand. Why lie? So the guy got scratched up by some animal? It happens all the time. And well, you guys are out here, pretty far from the town. Why hide anything? Who cares?"

The doctor just grimaced in response. "You're very lucky it was me who saw you enter the tent. There are bad people walking around lately, Patrick, and that's all I'm going to say on that."

"How do you mean? I feel as if I'm missing the joke here."

Patrick turned as he heard steps outside thundering towards the office. The door was thrown open and while Patrick was reaching for his sword, someone began to pummel him. He was thrown down from the chair, and they began kicking him in the stomach.

The armor took some of the sting away from the hits, but it wasn't much protection against blunt force. The young deputy was picked up and thrown down into the dusty road outside the doctor's office.

Through his tears and blood, Patrick saw a giant man draped in leathers smiling down at him. The man's long hair hung loose, hiding the man's eyes, giving his smile a sinister quality.

"Look at him. So damn stupid." The man kept smiling as he walked and put his foot down on Patrick's hand. The young deputy squirmed and yelled in pain when he could not hold back anymore. The man picked up Patrick's sword from where it fell and took a few swings to test the weight.

"Pretty good balance for a kid's weapon. They didn't really believe you'd stick anybody with this, did they kid?"

The doctor yelled from somewhere behind them. "He's just a kid, Carter. He doesn't know anything. She just sent him here to mess with us. How could they know? How could anybody?" By now, Patrick could see more people standing around, all of them donning either plate or leather armor and a few with flintlocks hanging around their back. A blonde woman with flintlock pistols in her hands leaned against the wall, her head pushed back, eyes closed.

Carter turned and nodded to her. "That's it for him, Vaya."

The woman's eyes popped open, she took a half-step towards the doctor and began to stab him in the arms and chest with a short knife. The doctor fell without fighting back at all, collapsing on the ground as if struck by lighting. Blood leaked out of a dozen small holes, mixing with the dust.

"Peacekeeper eh?" Carter clicked his tongue, pressing down his boot a little more on Patrick's arm. "You saw what was in that tent? Something rotten around that wound?"

"Just an animal attack." The deputy managed to squeeze out the words.

"I'm sure the right people could figure it out though, even if you don't know what in the hells you just saw. And there's the problem, kid. I have to do my job."

"No, you can't," said Vaya. "Darby said no killing if you can avoid it. Especially not the kind involving law-keepers."

This struck Patrick as very weird since she had just finished killing the doctor. That was when he looked at the man and noticed him still taking shallow breaths. All those stab wounds turned out to be just a lesson for the old man. The young deputy shuddered to think what they had in store for him, even if they did not kill him.

Carter spat, and Patrick felt the sickening liquid land on his back. "Damn, that's a lot of rules. How am I expected to perform up to standards if I'm being held back?"

"At least keep him until Darby can question him, boss. You know he gets all loud if he don't get his way." said another figure on the road. This one carried a large ax strapped to his back, along with little bombs hanging at his belt.

Carter blew air out of his lips, looking like a bored child in school, and not the leader of a mercenary gang.

"Yeah, alright. He's the one paying." Carter then knelt, grabbed Patrick by the back of the head, and smacked the deputy's head against the road. By the third hit, Patrick was unconscious.